[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE;]
[This particular story is a gentle one; readers seeking 'hot action' and a sexy 'play by play' might seek another venue. Thanks, Clinton09]
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Roger, 27, had been a graduate student at one of the finest, if not the finest, state universities (Michigan) for some seven years. He was pulling down a 'fast' $10,000 per year. Due to lobbying, at least the stipend was income tax free. He got by because the little tract home he inhabited was his parents' before their estate bequeathed it to him, lien free.
Roger was, to say the least, physically unimpressive. About five foot six on a good day, his arms were little more than bones covered by a pale cover. His private parts were best kept private; he approached the giant three inch length but only if the Russian or American woman's gymnastics team had a real babe going for the gold. (ah, Shannon Miller, how we miss ye) One last thing about Roger was his hair; it was wavy and long; he was sort of a mini-Kenny G.
His home was adjacent to two incredibly disparate neighbors. To his left was a grizzled retiree. Roger never talked to him long enough to learn whether that guy was alone due to his wife's passing or leaving him (later he learned she had left him.) The man tried to fly a huge American flag. To 'get the goat of that hippy that lived next door' was his explanation to the homeowners' association. Oddly enough, Roger voted FOR his right to fly the flag, but he was overruled and down came the flag. Horton (the old neighbor) did not like that, blamed 'that hippy' Roger for this humiliation, with attendant $500 penalty, and vowed revenge. To be sure, Horton did not appreciate looking at his neighbor and seeing the cute, or frightening, visage of a great ape looking back at him.
Great apes (bonobos and chimps mostly) were at the core of Roger's work. At school, he oversaw primate research, but this was mostly depressing duty where human products were first tested, humanely, on apes. Roger noted, and read further, on how much stronger apes were than men. It wasn't that they lifted weights or worked for it, of course. Nor did apes have superior musculature; there were no Schwarzenegger apes posing for their female counterparts. Their muscles were modest in size, required for the flexibility to climb. The secret was in the DNA, of course. Their muscles were different and their brains more attuned to physicality. Roger thought if he could impart some of the ape growth factors into humans, then human muscles would work better, buoyed by the greater body/mind connection. It was a forlorn hope, an impossible task?
Twas two nights before Christmas, and all thru his house, not a thing was stirring, except for his mouse. Roger made a leap, changing the 'handedness' of some sugar molecule from left to right handed. He did it on a 'lark' with no reason other than desperation. He would go to the labs at the university tomorrow with his key, and try to get the formula made. He went thru the usual backup procedures. He did them so religiously he gave them no thought. All of this formula was now on his computer. He'd print it out tomorrow, or sometime. The formula would take 26 pages to print with footnotes.
It was a treat for Roger to have as his OTHER neighbor Pamela, call her Pam. She was a widow at the young age of 41, her husband a truck driver who passed away due to a traffic accident. Pam was warm, loving, needful, and beautiful. She was not Hollywood or Playboy beautiful; no part of her body would set people with tape measures talking. She was the embodiment of plain, brown hair, brown eyes, a minimum of makeup, and a slim but not hourglass frame, five feet five, 110 lbs. Her whole life revolved around her son, stricken with an illness undisclosed to Roger. The illness was chronic and now deprived Tommy of the ability to even walk and take care of himself. Roger, being a campus brat of a certain age, dismissively called him the 'rugrat', but Tommy was everything to Pam.
Roger had nowhere to go for Christmas, so it was only natural that he would be with Pam. Pam had repeatedly communicated to Roger in a language he did not speak. When he slept over one night after babysitting, Pam continually said she was so grateful to him, how could she repay him? He looked so lonesome out there alone on the couch? Did he want to talk before they went to sleep? All of these messages fell on deaf ears. He really WAS a bookworm, a sexless dork...
Roger did one thing momentous exactly 12 hours before going over for Xmas dinner. He had two vials of the formula, the serum, which he had designed. He would try one on himself. He took it. He felt a bit queasy, that was all. He settled down to a nap.
Startled awake by his noisy alarm, he got up. Remembering that test, he ran to the mirror and looked, hoping to see some incredible pin-up beefcake stud with linebacker shoulders, arms of a god, and strength of ten men. Alas, there were no visible signs. Looking at his arms, he did notice that whereas they were about the thickness of the underlying bones, now they were at least normal looking. Moreover, they were thin but hard as a rock. He tested his strength on a six pack case of 3 liter bottles (total over 37 lb.s) and was surprised he could easily lift it with one arm. That was hardly Mr. Olympia territory, but he used to have to use two hands to pour a TWO liter bottle of Coke. He wondered 'what else worked' on his experiment. He searched out his TV remote control.
The easiest and quickest way to test him was to find the news channel; there it was. Oh, oh yes, one of the infobabes was sitting there, discoursing about something (who cares), and her legs were almost as fantastic as the infobabe scheduled for the next segment. With a gasp, a short breath, Roger looked down and he had reached his new pinnacle, some six solid inches. No, he wasn't ready to do the stunt work for John Holmes, but he at least was 'normal' here too.
He looked at the other vial. He had no doubt that if the 1st vial bestowed normalcy to a sub-male, the 2nd one would impart world champion studliness. He pictured that cheerleader co-ed he had in one of the myriad classes he had to teach for full professors while they "researched" for their next books. He day- dreamed about being the 'big' man on campus in more ways than one, making that cheerleader giddy with excitement.
Well, there was no time for the 2nd vial to take effect, this being the day of the dinner. He put it in his pocket, left out the front door (not locking it; he DID live in another world), and went to Pam's house.
Pam welcomed him warmly; the whole house had that warmth, that woodsy secure feeling you only get in northern climes during the holiday season. She had a real tree, something Roger never did (they would have to cut one down, after all...) Around the tree were some wrapped presents; this hit Roger like a slap in the face. He had brought absolutely nothing! He said, "Pam, I am incredibly embarrassed; I brought nothing except my pitiful self. I know if I went out now, the only places open would be Krystal, a Seven-Eleven, and the adult bookstore near campus. I don't think any of those places would be selling a decent gift. If you want...I will go home."
He actually thought that someone, anyone, let alone a loving woman like Pam, would turn him away. She hugged him more warmly than anyone ever had. Sharing breath with him, she asked, "Do you REALY think I would turn you out on Christmas because you couldn't afford gifts for me or Tommy?" She kissed him, for the first time ever. Roger was no paramour, but he also was a man. He returned that kiss, his new found 'normal' strength helping him feel like a normal man.
